The Real World
by JennieMac
Summary: This is a continuation of Blink with some more mature themes hence, the rating. Please enjoy and review.


Don't own 'em, just playing.

THE REAL WORLD

1: IT'S ALWAYS THE QUIET ONES

It was mid-afternoon before they even thought of getting up.

Sunday, 12:15 PM

She lay on her side facing away from him. Her hair was pooled on the pillow, and he ran his hand over and over the creamy smooth skin of her throat and her shoulder. Even the few inches that separated them now were too far, but he couldn't get enough of looking at her. At the way her skin blushed pink when he touched her, the way she wriggled and broke out in goose bumps when he ran his fingers over her ribs. He couldn't get over the miracle of those three dark freckles on her lower back and the way they formed a perfect equilateral triangle; he traced the shape with his thumb, and she sighed and moved close against him, crushing his hand between their bodies and making him forget everything but her warmth.

He leaned over and kissed her throat, felt the pulse beating beneath his lips. He felt the gentle burr of her voice as she moaned softly. She reached up and buried her fingers in his hair, then laid her palm against his cheek, holding him to her.

He wondered if a person could die of happiness.

……………………..

1:21 PM

He was almost asleep again, his face buried in the sweet warmth of her hair, when he heard her sigh. This was not a sigh of contentment or pleasure; this was a _thinking_ sigh.

And it was not good.

She had gone still, beside him; he felt her limbs stiffen. He swallowed as she pulled away from him and rolled onto her back; he kept his eyes closed and prayed, Please, please don't let her be regretting this. Don't let this all have been…

She let out a long breath through pursed lips; he heard the low whistle beside him, and when he looked at her she was frowning at the ceiling, her arms thrown up to encircle the pillow and her fingers clasped together, working in and out and between and around one another. What he did next was pure instinct, now, although there had been a time, not long ago, when it would have been unthinkable: he reached up and encircled one of her wrists with his fingers. He ran his fingertips over the soft skin on the inside of her wrist and followed with his lips, kissing the thin skin over the delicate blue veins and running his fingers over the lines in her palm.

She turned her head and caught his eye and smiled; her eyes were a smoky grey-green, a color he'd never seen before. Then she turned away and frowned at the ceiling again, catching his hand in her own and giving it a squeeze.

"What?" he asked, pillowing his head on the crook of her elbow. He studied the whorls of her ear as he let his other hand travel down through her hair, over her throat and shoulder. He caught his breath as his fingertips brushed the swell of her breast, and he laid his hand flat on her stomach so he could feel the breaths going in and out. In…up, out…down. She took a deeper breath and turned slightly to face him; her breasts shifted and the curve of her waist rose into view, begging him to rest his hand there, so he did.

He was moving forward again, because really, he could not be expected to control himself when she…moved, like that. God. But once he was close enough to feel the tips of her breasts brush against him and his mouth was inches away from the thin skin of her throat, which he knew would taste sweet and salty and hot…she reached forward and put her hand on his chest and bit at the corner of her bottom lip in that absolutely adorable way, and he forgot to breathe or move during the few seconds it took her to say, "I've never…"

"Never what?" He couldn't look away from her eyes now, the way they glanced off his face and settled on her own hand resting on his chest, her fingers kneading him gently in a way that made another part of him ache.

She looked quickly at his eyes again, then back at her own hand. "I've never done this before."

He raised one eyebrow.

She caught the look and let out a soft laugh, drawing her hand into a fist and beating it lightly against his chest as she said, "I _meant_, I've never…" Her face fell. "…cheated, before," she whispered.

He froze, for just one bare instant. Was something wrong, here? Was he missing something? He enveloped her hand with his own, holding it to his chest the way he'd wanted to before, so many times before. He heard his voice cracking as he asked, "Is that what you're doing?"

She let out another long sigh, and her breasts shifted again, and he held her hand tighter and felt the warm rush of wanting her fill him again, even though it was hardly possible. But 'possible' didn't seem to matter, with the two of them. And watching the soft downy skin of her stomach rise and fall with each gentle breath was getting to be a bit difficult to do and think at the same time. So he watched her mouth instead, as she said, "No, not really. I guess." She rolled onto her back again, and he came close to crying out in protest as she pulled her hand away. "I guess what I meant was…" She was frowning at the ceiling again, her idle fingers twisting a strand of her hair. "I've never made a decision this big before. About my life."

Suddenly everything was possible: she had said 'decision' and she had said 'my life.' He would not, did not want to hear anything else. She had been with him and she had chosen him, and it ended there and it was too much, too much...

He rolled over so that he was on top of her again. How he loved being here. How he loved feeling absolutely every inch of her touching every inch of him. Loved it, loved her, loved grabbing both of her hands with both of his own and feeling the smooth skin of her inner arms against his arms. He loved feeling her breasts crush against his chest, loved the way her stomach rose and fell with gentle breaths against his own. Loved the way her legs twined with his, the way her toes curled and dug into his calves like she was trying to sink into him.

How he loved the close slippery warmth inside of her, in the secret heart of her, and loved the little keening sigh she gave as he found it again.

He turned his head and watched her with her eyes closed and her lips parted, and he opened his mouth to taste her earlobe, and he said, "How does it feel?" He meant the decision. He meant, how does it feel to be free? Finally?

She seemed to understand him. She arched against him and bit lightly at the skin on his shoulder; when she spoke, her breath warmed the skin of his throat. "Good," she said, and her voice was a low purr. "So good."

She squeezed down on him, then, and held on.

They were still—almost—for a minute or so, and he wanted to understand, wanted to know how to even begin to make her talk like that to him every day for the rest of their lives. He knew he could understand how if he could just. Hold. Still.

But he couldn't, because…_God_.

………………………….

2:45 PM

"You." His voice was a hoarse murmur. He kissed her left collarbone. "Are," he continued, burying his nose in her stomach and flicking his tongue across her belly button, causing her to giggle a bit and grab at his hair. "Amazing," he finished, kissing the hollow place between her hip and the top of her thigh.

He rested his cheek on the top of her leg, and she raked her fingertips through his hair. Somehow the comforter and all the sheets had fallen and pooled around the bedside, and he saw goose bumps bloom on her skin when he ran his knuckles down the inside of her leg.

He glanced up at her. "You cold?"

She opened one eye. "Not exactly," she breathed. She sounded hoarse, as well. She opened the other eye and gazed down at him. She nudged him with her toe. "You're not so bad yourself, you know?"

He grinned at her and leaned his cheek onto her leg again, and they laced their fingers together and dozed on the bare bed.

……………………………..

3:28 PM

"We should really get up soon."

"Mmmmmmph."

"I'm serious. Your roommate is going to be here soon, and I have to go back home."

"Arrrrrmph no."

"And you seriously need a shower."

He poked his head up. "Are you saying I smell?"

"Like a…" She wrinkled her nose, and he leaned over and tried to bite it, but she batted him away. "Well, I don't really want to say what you smell like."

"You're not much better," he mumbled into the back of her neck.

"I know I'm not. Which is why I'm saying, we need to get up. Plus I'm starving."

"What? Three pieces of pizza, fifteen hours ago, isn't doing it for you?"

"Surprisingly, no." She sat up in bed and he groaned, reaching after her. She clutched at her head. "Ooooh, head rush. Haven't been upright in a while." She grinned over her shoulder at him and he fell a bit deeper in love with her, even though that wasn't possible. "And I never said we had to shower separately."

His mouth dropped open. "You are…" He shook his head, searching for the right words. She was amazing and beautiful and radiant, warm and irresistible and just…just Pam. But he couldn't put that into words without sounding stupid—she knew she was Pam—so he settled for, "It's always the quiet ones."

"Yes, it is." She winked at him, sliding over to the edge of the bed. "Got any clean towels?"

……………………….

He had to sneak her out of the bathroom and down the hall because by the time they were finished showering, Mark and his girlfriend Julie were banging through the front door and shouting, "Anyone home?" Pam giggled into her hand as he pushed her down the hall. He wasn't sure why they were being so secretive; he just knew that it was fun and it seemed like another one of their games, and he didn't want her to stop smiling. Because he had a feeling she might stop. Soon.

He'd often imagined what she must look like coming out of a shower. How many times he'd imagined it, he didn't care to remember now, but he'd been right about one thing: when wet, her hair was darker and smooth, a brown mane clinging to her neck, shoulders and back. Droplets of water clung to her eyelashes and dripped off onto his chest as he held her close against him, just inside the door to his room, as Mark and Julie trooped down the hall outside. Pam looked up at him like she wanted to say something, but he stopped her mouth with a kiss: long and deep and desperate to keep the real world from intruding.

She was, too. Desperate. She leaned into him, and her fingers slid underneath the hem of the towel that circled his waist. It dropped to the floor. Jim's fingers shook as he undid the knot that held her towel to her.

Mark's bedroom door slammed. There were voices in the hallway, feet from where they stood.

Jim and Pam drew apart and stared into one another's eyes. Jim saw fear and uncertainty and desperation, and all of the things he'd been trying not to see before. He moved to take her in his arms again, but she stepped back, bumping into his door, and just stared at him. Then she ducked down and picked up her towel off the floor, wrapping it around herself more tightly than before.

"Can you help me find my clothes?" she asked. She wasn't looking at him.

"Yup." He tried to quash the feeling of dread building up in his stomach as he scanned the floor for some sign of Pam.

………………………..

"Hey, Jim man. Didn't know if you were home. Whose car…oh hi." Mark's face passed through surprise to confusion and finally ended on barely-contained hilarity as first Jim, then Pam, trooped down the stairs into the kitchen. Mark stared at the two of them: clothes askew, hair wet.

There was a beat of open-mouthed silence. Then, Mark closed the refrigerator door and smiled. "Hey. You're Pam, right?"

"Yeah," she said, waving lamely at Mark from the bottom of the stairs.

"Yeah, I remember you from the party. Jim talks a lot about…"

"Dude, she's gotta go." Jim really didn't want to have this conversation right now.

"Yeah, I've really gotta get going. My fiancé…uh…" Her eyes widened and she caught Jim's eye for a split second. "I mean, he's coming back and…" She stared at her shoes. Jim pressed his lips together and took her hand, giving it a squeeze as he led her down the hall.

He couldn't believe he'd heard her correctly. He couldn't believe she'd just said the word _fiancé_.

They walked right past Julie on the couch, Pam giving her a lame smile, Jim not looking at her at all. He had eyes right now for no one but the small silent figure who was disappearing, even as he watched, through the front door.

He caught her elbow before she could walk away. "Give me a call."

She nodded. "I will."

"I mean…I want to know what…what goes on. Okay?"

She nodded again. She stood on his front porch and stared at her shoes. "So what happens now?"

"You tell me." It came out sounding angrier than he'd intended.

"What?" Her head snapped back up.

He immediately felt ashamed. "I mean…you do whatever it is you need to do. Okay?"

"Yup." She sounded close to tears again.

He reached out and took her hand again. "Just call me. Let me know how this goes."

"I will." And then she was snatching her hand away from him and running across the lawn and getting into her car without a backward glance.

And he had to wonder what it meant, that she sat there rubbing her eyes and not starting the engine. Whether her contacts were dried out again, or whether she was crying.

He watched her finally start the car, and he had to wonder what it meant that she'd called Roy her fiancé, just like that. Just like today had never happened. What did it mean that, when confronted by the real world again, she was content to pretend they were still just friends?

What did it mean that he felt like screaming with joy and pain at the same time?

She pulled away from the curb still rubbing at her eyes—Must be her contacts after all—and he backed into the house and shut the door.

"Dude," said Mark, settling on the couch next to Julie. "What's going on?"

Jim stared at him. "I have no idea."

He walked, numb, down the hall and up the stairs and into his room. He shut the door and picked up both wet towels and hung them over the backs of chairs.

He stared out the window.

He fell, face down, on the bed that was still stripped of sheets and blankets.

God. God. The pillow still smelled like her.

He tried not to imagine her walking into her apartment and finding Roy…no. Sitting there and _waiting_ for Roy to get home from wherever he'd been. Tried not to think about what the two of them would talk about, and not talk about, what he'd do and what she'd say. What she'd tell him.

What he'd do.

_If she doesn't call by nine,_ he told himself. _Then I'll call her. Just to know._

_Eight-thirty._

God. That was still hours. He inhaled what was left of her on the pillowcase and closed his eyes and tried not to picture what she was doing and saying, what she was thinking right now. He tried not to picture her face as she was leaving today. Willed himself not to see the confusion. The panic. Not to picture the way her face had looked when she'd accused herself of 'cheating.' The blank way she had looked.

What would she do?

He was nearly panicked, himself, to realize that he had no idea.


End file.
